


Nauðr

by CreatorOfDimensions



Series: The Northern Cold AUs [1]
Category: Norse Sagas, The Northern Cold, Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vikings, Anal Sex, Dark Age Domesticity, Fluff, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9255032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreatorOfDimensions/pseuds/CreatorOfDimensions
Summary: After the battle of Hafrsfjord, former shipbuilder Frode travels across newly united Norway to return to his long-time lover. A hoard of silver is poor compensation for a lost hand, and upon his return he finds he missed out on more than Terje's cock in his three year absence.





	

Leading his pack horse on a rope over the crest of the last mountain pass, Frode could feel the strength drain right from his body through the holes worn in his boots on his arduous journey. His destination was nowhere in sight yet, but he knew it was a matter of hours now, rather than days. And so he pulled his plodding horse along, down towards the valley. Autumn had taken a strong hold on the land up here already, he noticed, compared to the port where he'd disembarked the trading vessel that brought him around from Hafrsfjord after the victory over Kjotve the Rich. The birch trees coloured the valley in crimson and gold, and lack of clouds caused a frosty breeze to cut across the mountains. His face felt cold where his breath condensed in his beard.  

As the sun descended with him, all he could think of was putting one foot in front of the other so he could sleep in an actual house tonight, given that there would be anyone he knew left alive and willing to take him in.

The sight of thriving, carefully cultivated crops lifted his spirits when he stepped onto familiar land at last, feet aching something awful and phantom pain shooting up his left arm. Weaving between the fields, some stretches of soil already tilled for new planting, Frode made his way towards the longhouse at the centre of them, still uncertain what kind of welcome awaited him after all this time. A little ways away from the house, a tall man hammered at a fence post around the muddy pig pens. A multitude of silver beads shone among the sandy curls that tumbled to his broad shoulders, keeping the hair out of his face with narrow plaits. The sight tugged at Frode's heart.

He left his horse to nibble on the grass growing under the fenced off vegetable garden, and rather than letting his knees buckle with exhaustion, he walked the last stretch along the newly mended posts upright.

'Terje,' he called, voice hoarse with disuse.

Terje stood up and spun, dropping his hammer and squinting against the low-hanging sun. 'Frode? Is that you?'

'Yeah.' Frode tried for a smile.

Terje started towards him with long, hurried strides. Frode would have met him all the way if he hadn't been so damn weary, but instead waited to see how Terje took his sudden return. Halting at an arm's length, Terje looked him over with a pained expression. He reached across the distance to grip Frode's upper arms.

'The gods returned you to me alive.'

'Narrowly. But yes.'

Frode got a brief glimpse of tears escaping his eyelids before Terje crushed him to his chest. He brought his arms up around Terje in turn, closing his eyes to revel in the embrace. He didn't even notice the pain in his left arm as he awkwardly clutched Terje with it. He was finally home.

'Are you done fighting now?' Terje asked when he let go, gently tugging Frode's braid. 'I don't want to see you off to any more wars.'

'I think I am.'

'Will you swear an oath on it?'

'I might, come Midwinter.' Casting an eye over Terje's shoulder to regard Terje's many sons and nephews, who'd all stopped working to investigate the commotion, Frode remarked: 'It can't have been lonely around here while I was gone.'

'Never that,' Terje admitted. 'Come, you must be exhausted. Better get you cleaned up so you can go into the house.'

He ushered Frode down the dirt track that led to the stream to bathe.

'Is this really necessary? I can barely stand,' Frode protested.

'You're dirtier than that horse you had in tow, and that's saying something,' Terje observed as Frode stripped. 'You know Mia won't have you at her table, looking and smelling like that.'  

When Frode tossed his tunic on top of his blood-crusted  _vápntreyja_ , Terje spun him around and grabbed his left arm. Or what was left of it.

'Gently.' Frode pried Terje's fingers loose. His flesh was still tender where his forearm ended in a stump.

'What happened?' Terje bit at him in a terse tone.

'Big fucking axe clove my shield in two and took my bloody hand with it. I guess I won't be building any more ships.'

Frode pushed away the regret about joining the fray in that last assault on Kjotve's men. During the first few days after the battle was done he'd doubted he'd survive the amputation, or the pain that came with it. He'd come close to asking one of his brothers in arms to send him off to  _Valhöll_ with an arrow through his eye. Now that he was home, however, and the pain had dulled over the long weeks since, he was glad to still be alive. If anything, seeing Terje again in this life was worth enduring.

Terje stared at the grisly wound for a long moment, holding Frode's arm up by the elbow. 'If that's what it takes to keep you home for good.'

Frode pulled it free to kneel and unpin the frayed edges of his  _vindingr_. He was secretly glad Terje took his clothes away before he could attempt to sort them out with one hand.

'Get in the water. I'll make sure the girls wash them on laundry day.'

A quick dunk in the icy stream wasn't enough to satisfy Terje. When he returned, having disposed of the filthy garb, he insisted Frode use the brush and the lye soap he provided despite shivers and chattering teeth.

'Wash your hair, too. You look like a vagrant.'

'I  _am_ a vagrant,' Frode said, though he began undoing his braid.

'Not in my house, you're not.'

'Then what?' Frode clenched his jaw against the cold as he scrubbed his scalp with the chunk of soap. He wondered where they stood after his three year absence.

Terje said nothing, not one for many words. His silent gaze remained on Frode when he rose from the water with his hair dripping down his back. He offered a woollen blanket to keep warm during the short walk back to the house, which Frode accepted gratefully. The cold water had eased some of the muscle ache in his legs, but the soles of his feet possibly felt more tender when he started walking again.

'Shame about that hand,' Terje said at his side. 'It was a good fucking hand, but then you went and lost it. And what for? Just so old Tanglehair could get laid?'

'The pay wasn't bad. You'll have to help me bury my hoard somewhere tomorrow.'

Entering the dim longhouse, Frode couldn't help but groan in relief when Terje sat him down on a chair near the cooking fire. He stretched out his legs to take the weight off his feet for what must have been the first time since his hasty morning meal.

'Look who's here, girls,' Terje called.

His daughters glanced up from their activities around the hall. The ones who remembered Frode gave him waves and smiles.

'Who is it?' Mia peered from among the bunches of dried herbs hanging from the support beams.

'Frode.'

'Frode the tanner?'

'Frode the Red. Our Frode.'

'Hello Mia,' Frode called.

'He's alive?' Mia hurried towards them, wiping hands on her apron dress before touching Frode's face in fond greeting. 'Thank the gods! Did you walk all the way from the coast? You must be so hungry.'

'It wasn't so bad, really. I ate this morning.'

'You look half starved. There's porridge and bread leftover. I'll warm it for you.'

Frode thanked her when she returned with a wooden bowl and a spoon. He rested it in the crook of his elbow, handling the spoon with his right hand.

Mia tutted at the sight of his mangled arm poking out from underneath the blanket, and ran a hand across his damp hair. She gave Terje a look. 'Were you done working on the fence?'

Terje shook his head, and left after kissing her cheek. Frode found he still had it in him to feel jealous he was not given the same courtesy.

'How have you been, Mia?' he ventured between bites.

'It's been a time of plenty while you were gone, I'm glad to say. Plenty of good harvests, plenty of children...' She shot Frode a mysterious smile. 'You should meet someone.'

She called softly for a girl named Frida, a child of less than three winters, squatting near the animal pen. Frida toddled up, toting a ginger cat with an impressive ruff, and peered up at Frode quite fearlessly. She had liquid brown eyes like all of Mia's children, but her hair was of an auburn Frode didn't see anywhere else among the shades of blond.

Frode met Mia's eyes, momentarily at a loss for words as he recalled the nights he warmed her bed when Terje and Lars had taken their eldest sons to the Althing.

'I regret leaving now.' 

'Terje has assumed your duties as a father, don’t worry.' 

'I'll be sure to thank him for it.'

He turned his attention to the child. His daughter. Frida. He thought she was a beauty, like her name suggested, with healthy round cheeks, an inquisitive gaze, and gleaming hair that curled a bit at the ends. 

'Well met, little one. I'm Frode.' He held out his hand.

Frida silently observed him. The grumpy-looking cat struggled once when she hoisted it with one arm and fleetingly touched chubby fingers to Frode's.

'Is that your kitty? What's his name?'

Frida turned away from the attempt at a conversation to resume her play, dragging the cat along.

'She's not much of a talker yet.' Mia came to stand behind the bench to comb Frode's hair out and braid it back in his usual style when he finished eating, and laid out some of Terje's clothes for him. Once dressed, Frode wandered outside to find his horse had been tended to and his packs brought inside. Offering Mia to help with dinner preparations earned him a dismissive laugh. That was women's business, she deemed, and he couldn't so much as chop up a carrot in this state.

With little to do until the evening meal, Frode stretched out on the low benches. The straw mattresses covered with furs felt amazingly soft after such a long time of sleeping either on the ground or between the rowing benches of ships. He fell asleep within moments.

The scent of food and a growing noise eventually woke him. With the entire extended family present, the hall became crowded in a way it hadn't been years back. Frode tried to count the amount of small children he had never met as they ran around. Looking at their eye colour was the only way to tell which belonged to Terje and his wife and which to Terje's brother and sisters. They were plenty indeed.

As they ate, the older boys gravitated towards Frode to hear tales of king Harald and the battle at sea, asking if he finally married his betrothed, and if it was true he hadn’t combed his hair since he swore his oath to conquer all of Norway for her. Then of course there was the story of how Frode lost his hand. They made him talk and teach them songs the men sang aboard the ships until no amount of ale could relieve his hoarse throat anymore.

Darkness set in early, though the women kept on working, cleaning and setting out the necessary items for the preparation of the morning meal. Girls sat by the light of the fire, mending clothes with the bone needles from the cases that dangled on their utility chains. The smaller children dropped one by one, yawning and rubbing eyes. Mia gave Frode a comb and a soft stick to clean Frida's teeth with when the glassy-eyed toddler sat down in a corner. He put her up on the bench to untangle her hair with the utmost care.

'We'll find you a wife to give you some sons, soon,' Mia said. 'Yrsa has been making eyes at you since this afternoon.' 

Frode shook his head. 'I'm no match for a young woman, look at me. And you have already made me a father. I have nothing left to desire.'

'Except perhaps my husband?' Mia teased.

Frode glanced over at his former lover, who met his gaze over a cup of ale, dogs sleeping at his feet under the table. 'If it's still favourable in your eyes. If he still wants me.'

'I'll make you a wager on which of us he'll crawl into bed with tonight. And to be honest, I'd be grateful not to have another baby underway as soon as this one is out of his swaddling clothes. Keep him busy for me, won't you?'

He nodded, to which she patted his leg and left him to tuck Frida in next to an older half-brother.

Terje looked up when Frode joined him on the bench at the table. 'I see Mia introduced you to your daughter.'

'That was a surprise. I couldn't be happier, though.'

Terje squeezed his shoulder. 'I made sure she knows her father is a famous warrior.'

'Hardly a  _famous_  warrior,' Frode amended. 'But thank you.'

They sat drinking in silence for a while, until Terje set his cup down hard and jerked his head at the outstretched bench behind them. 'That's as much waiting as I can stand. Lie with me.'

Frode's heart picked up speed under his hungry gaze. He glanced around at the people that were still awake, most of them winding down with an ale or finishing a last chore. 'When everyone's abed, maybe?'

Among soldiers, fucking was something you wanted to be seen doing to assert status and dominance, but he'd become unused to the presence of women and children. Still, Silje spoke to Lars' wife quite obliviously from her husband’s lap as he fondled her breast through the fabric of her dress. It was easy to forget what a normal part of life it was in communities when you surrounded yourself only with sailors and soldiers. All those children around the hall hadn't sprung up out of the ground.

'It's been three bloody summers, Frode.' Terje moved a dog and a sleeping kid to make room on the low benches.

Frode caught Mia's eye as she nursed her baby one last time before bed.  _He's your problem again_ , her smile seemed to say.

Grabbing Frode by the front of his tunic, Terje pushed him onto the furs to hoots and friendly jibes from his adolescent nephews. Ignoring catcalls was second nature, however, and Frode welcomed the weight on top of him, breathing as hard as Terje did, waiting for the touch of a first kiss. The firelight coming from behind Terje's back coloured him in shades of burnished gold. This was what a god looked like, Frode imagined. Strong and hale, virile, and compassionate. He felt blessed to be in Terje's presence again.

' _Fuck_ , it's been a long time,' Terje swore emphatically, reaching into his trousers to adjust his cock before pressing his mouth onto Frode's. He let out a low sound of want, unconcerned who saw or heard.

Frode let Terje rut against him, their clothes forming a barrier neither of them had the presence of mind to remove for the moment. He held Terje tight, meeting his movements with a sense of urgency to feel their cocks brush against each other through layers of linen. It hadn't been long since he'd last taken a lover - weeks perhaps, since he fucked the mousy boy that sold him a horse in the port, but it was different with Terje. The long-standing love between them made it into something more that kept him coming back. He needed that love to heal him from the horrors of war and his long, lonely journey home.

Terje slowly extracted himself from Frode's arms, sitting up on his knees to undo the laces of his trousers with his erection tenting the crotch. Frode followed suit, pushing the waistband past his thighs. Terje ran a hand up the inside of his right leg, thumbing the puckered scar left by an arrowhead, but he hadn't the patience for more. After a caress of his cock that left Frode wanting, he urged Frode onto hands and knees. Frode awkwardly searched for a position that favoured his left arm, feeling the loss of balance acutely as he braced with his right. A hand between his shoulder blades push him further down, onto his elbows, as Terje worked spit into his hole behind him. Frode accepted the more vulnerable position for the sake of stability, remembering the force of Terje's thrusts.

Within moments of getting comfortable, Terje mounted him like an overeager stallion, shoving his cock home in one swift movement after a few botched tries. Frode groaned between gritted teeth as he adjusted, but gave himself over to the pleasure of a breeding only Terje knew how to give him. His sheer girth made it impossible to miss that strange spot inside that made Frode instantly weak in the knees.

He lowered his head onto the furs between his elbows, coarse reindeer hair prickling the side of his face, and reached between his own legs. His tunic pooled around his shoulders when Terje pushed it up his back, wanting to see more of him. The sound of Terje's breath catching in his throat whenever his cock got harder inside him had Frode’s twitching sympathetically in his fist. It seemed he wasn't meant to enjoy it for long, however, as bitten off grunts marked the end of Terje's endurance. He stilled to catch his breath, though he kept Frode in place with a firm grip. As his cock stopped pulsing inside Frode's hole, he began to move again, slower this time. The stretch of his hole lessened somewhat, seed easing the slide in and out.

'Miss me?' Frode said with a hoarse laugh when he felt Terje get hard a second time.

'You damned well know I did,' Terje panted. ‘Did you? Or were you too busy getting fucked by half of Tanglehair's army?'

Shortness of breath made Frode's answer less dignified than he intended. 'I mostly did the fucking.'

He had to shift his weight off his sore arm before long, which made it hard to take care of his own needs. Before he could so much as figure out a way to bring about his climax, Terje collapsed on top of him, thoroughly satisfied at last. 

'I guess I love you still, huh?' Terje said between laboured breaths as he sat down. He clapped his open hand on Frode's arse, then wiped the excess seed coating his cock on a corner of his tunic. 'You abandoned me even though I pleaded with you not to, but this made up for it somewhat.'

Frode rolled onto his back next to him, and made an attempt at folding his arms behind his head. His left, of course, came up short. He shot Terje a sheepish grin.

Terje tenderly stroked the side of his face. Then, with a panning look over Frode's bared chest and abdomen, he lowered his head into Frode’s lap. Frode toyed with one of the beads among Terje's curls. When need took him over, however, he firmly rested his hand on the crown of Terje’s head to guide his rhythm.

They lay together naked to feel their skin hot against the other's after, exchanging tired caresses. Sleep didn't come immediately for either of them.

'How about you?' Terje asked eventually.

'Hm?'

'Do you still love me?'

'I'm here, aren't I?'

'Not sure where else you'd go, with that arm.'

Frode pressed his lips against Terje's temple. 'I can still handle an axe and shield. I'm here because after everything I've seen and done, my only remaining wish is to live out my days at your side.'  

'That's all I wanted to hear.'

Despite the oppressive wood smoke, the chatter of tireless adolescents, and the cat that stepped on Frode's face just as he dozed off, it was the best night's rest he'd had in forever. Terje's arms around him provided a comfortable warmth, and there was no need to keep one eye open for wild animals or hostile encounters while he slept.

Terje got up early the next morning to milk the cows, urging Frode to stay in bed until the morning meal with a parting kiss, but Frode found he didn't want to when a red-haired toddler waddling across the benches began tugging on his braid. He quickly washed and dressed, then helped his daughter get ready for the day. She studied the beads in his beard with fascination when he cleaned her face with a wet rag. She’d probably seen them before, as they were of the same make as those in Terje’s hair. Mia provided them both with porridge and bread when they sat at the table, but Frida kept dipping her spoon in his porridge to make sure her own portion didn't dwindle. When she was full, she left him her half-empty bowl and crawled after a dog under the table. Frode ate the leftovers while the ginger cat licked his finished bowl clean.

Terje found him outside later, repurposing his battle axe to chop kindling for the women's cook fire.

'I wonder how long you'll be satisfied with this,' he speculated.

'If you think I'll abandon my daughter for anything, you don't know me very well.'

Terje said nothing to that, watching him gather up firewood in the crook of his elbow with crossed arms.

'Grab a spade and meet me at the stream,' Frode said, carrying the kindling into the longhouse. 

After crossing the felled tree that formed a makeshift bridge over the stream, they trudged through the woods up the sloping mountain a while together, looking for a good landmark; Terje with the spade over his shoulder, and Frode carrying the heavy chest containing his accumulated wealth. At a rocky outcropping that formed a natural shelter, Frode halted.

'This'll do.' He dropped the chest and took the spade, balancing it with his right arm as he stomped the blade into the earth.

The digging was awkward. Terje took over after letting him toil long enough pretend he was getting anywhere.

'If you ever need anything, and I'm not there to give it to you,' Frode began, 'help yourself to it. I'll show this place to Mia, too. If I die before Frida grows up, consider this my payment for taking care of her. You still remember where I buried the other one, right?'

'Stop talking like that.'   

'Be glad I have the sense to do this. Keep digging.'

Frode finished burying the hoard by distributing leafy mulch over the dig site in a pattern like the rest of the forest floor, then dusted off his hands to study their work. 'There. We'll never want for anything between now and Valhöll.'

'Your return made sure of that, even if you'd come back empty-handed.'

'Your hospitality rivals Aegir's,' Frode murmured. ‘You are too good.’

'I'm simply finding new ways to tell you how much I love you.'

Frode took Terje's face between his hands, and rested their foreheads together. 'Know that I return it with all my heart.'

Terje kissed him hard, pressing his solid body up against him, but stopped himself from undoing Frode's belt, letting his hand fall away from the buckle. 'You've likely had enough of fucking outside.'

'If it's all the same, I prefer a bed and a fire at my back in this weather.'

Terje tugged him along downhill with a rakish grin. 'Come then, before I lose my patience and bend you over a stump.'      

When the gurgling waters of the stream became audible again, he looked at Frode as if struck with a sudden idea. 'Maybe hold off on dulling your axe on firewood for now.'

'How so?'

'Well… we've got a good life here. Perhaps to the envy of others who would try to take it for themselves.'

Frode nodded. ‘We should protect the farm against raids.’

‘Exactly. It’d be wise if you taught our sons how to handle more than a pitchfork or a scythe.'

‘Jaki seemed keen last night. I’ll start with him when we get back.’

Terje hauled him close by the shoulders. ‘You’ll start after I’m done with you, you mean,’ he murmured, latching his mouth onto Frode’s neck.

‘Yeah,’ Frode agreed, letting Terje press him up against a tree. ‘I suppose it can wait that long.’

**Author's Note:**

> It's no secret I'm a sucker for Viking AU's, so here's one for my upcoming novel If This Is To End In Fire from The Northern Cold series. I hope you enjoyed it, and let me know what you liked and want to read next!


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